The Ghost in my Lungs
by kisssanitygoodbye
Summary: Varric checks on Anders and muses about the latest chapter of his story. - inspired by the "Hawke isn't real" head canon that's been going around tumblr


"Still working on that manifesto, Blondie?"

"Still writing that ridiculous story of yours?"

The mage's tone is harsher than Varric had expected. Still, it's better than the monotone, slightly abstracted murmurs he had to coax out of him during his last brief visit. Varric had even found himself checking Anders' forehead for a sun-shaped mark then, no matter how unlikely that scenario was. They probably wouldn't make him Tranquil. They would put a noose around his neck.

"Ah, but people love that story, especially the latest chapter. You know, about that Tevinter slave killing his former master's apprentice almost single-handedly, while the renegade mage finally debates giving up, leaving the city behind and spending his time in solitude, so as not to murder another innocent. It wouldn't be fair to leave them hanging. Besides, I'm also curious how it's going to end." Varric leans against the old, battered table Anders is sitting at, his fingers pensively brushing his chin. "What do you think?"

"I think that the renegade mage might just pay your room in the Hanged Man a visit and cross out all the lines mentioning his _tortured soul _and _heroic pursuits_." Anders finally looks up then, the hint of a grin lighting up his face, and Varric can't deny the relief surging through his body. This is the Anders he met so long ago, all cautious affection, tired smiles and airy hopefulness, not the empty shell of a man he was the last few times the dwarf has seen him, the mage's own spirits ripped from him by a single, much stronger one.

Varric had been genuinely surprised when he heard that Anders had killed a girl. He's not sure why. It's what you'd expect an abomination to do, right?

Maybe it's because, of all the possessed mages he has come across, Blondie looks the least bit like one. There are too many crow's-feet around his eyes, too many partly faded scars on his body and too many weak smiles on his lips to make him anything less than human, and when _he_makes the Veil shake, it's usually by breathing life back into a person, not by taking it from them.

And his reaction to the girl's death has probably been the rawest, most honest display of humanity Varric has ever seen. Shaking hands, ragged breaths, eyes screwed shut and desperation wrapping itself around him like a cloak, the question _Why _racing through his mind in never ending circles. The whole package, more cynical men would say. The depths of human nature, combined in one single person. That's probably all that Blondie is to the people who don't know him well, the people who have never seen him work in the Clinic, have never experienced the way the mage can light up a whole room, pure energy pulsing through him and leaving his body in consistent waves, even powerful enough to make the skin of a dwarf prickle under their thick leather coat.

Varric had written a lot in the few days after the incident. It had just been too easy. Blondie is without doubt the kind of person who can be written without any great effort, because all the author needs to know is right there, just beneath the surface, only protected from the world by an outworn, shabby coat that smells like wet dog.

And maybe that's why the latest chapter had been such a challenge to write. Because it hadn't been just about Anders, but about Fenris too. And Broody is not someone who can be put to paper without hesitation, all the sharp edges and spiky armour and the guard he never really lets down making it so difficult to work with. Varric had spent hours in his suite, his grip tightening around his quill while he was desperately trying to put the hard glares and gruff replies, and that deep emptiness surrounding the elf into words.

How can you switch from that to Anders, who is just the opposite, raw feeling laid bare, with no spikes to protect him? And when Blondie turns blue, he's not _taking _control but _losing _it. He's soft where Fenris is hard, with just the right amount of ruggedness sprinkled on top.

Not one of his brightest ideas to combine their storylines in one chapter, that's for sure. But it had been beautiful in such a poetic way. Two characters, different as can be, both standing at a precipice, the one trying to jump but unsure how, the other pushed over the edge without warning.

This is the curse of all authors, Varric assumes. Beauty over practicality.

"Did you include our favourite hero again?" Anders finally asks, absently crossing out a line he's just written.

"Of course I did. The audience loves the tragic, courageous man who changed everything and everyone he touched. I only give them what they want. You know that. And Hawke makes things a lot more interesting." What Varric doesn't tell him is how he has considered changing the storyline, with the Fereldan refugee stopping Vengeance from killing the girl Anders has been fighting for. It might have given his audience more hope. Still, it felt wrong to change such a substantial part of the story, so he's kept it the way it was, no glossing over hard truths and weights too heavy.

"I still think it's ridiculous. No single man can do what your favourite character has done, Varric."

The dwarf has to smile at that. "Well, Blondie, that's sort of the point, isn't it?"


End file.
